


Pay as You Go

by sharked



Category: Naruto
Genre: Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Exhibitionism, Hashirama thinks he’s the victim here, He really really isn’t, Humiliation, Jealousy, M/M, Madara is an asshole, One-Sided Relationship, Past Rape/Non-con, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 01:20:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20368282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharked/pseuds/sharked
Summary: Hashirama would give anything to keep Madara in the village. A year later, Tobirama is still paying the price.





	Pay as You Go

Hashirama should have gone home hours ago.

The tower was long empty, the staff retired for the night. Mito was expecting him. Instead he meandered through the hallways, checking the windows were shut, the doors locked, the lights off. He swung the door to the storage closet back and forth, checking the hinges, before letting it swing closed and finally, finally making his way to his office.

The sounds had started up nearly an hour before. Hashirama knew he should have left as soon as he heard--should have left before that--but he followed them instead. He always did.

Tobirama was naked, his clothes discarded in a heap in the middle of the floor. His skin almost glowed under the stark office lights, pale as a lily against the deep indigo of Madara’s robes. Madara was still fully dressed, down to his gloved hands. One twisting Tobirama’s wrists behind his back, the other pushing his face into the surface of Hashirama’s desk.

Madara’s eyes were already on him even as he entered, hips working steadily. Tobirama arched and writhed under Madara’s hands, sharp little moans punched out of him with each thrust.

Hashirama’s hands curled into fists.

The hand in Tobirama’s hair tightened its grip, yanking him up and back. Hashirama’s eyes zeroed in on the red, wet ‘o’ of Tobirama’s mouth as he panted openly. Madara leaned in to whisper into Tobirama’s ear. The gesture was intimate, private, his voice pitched just loud enough for Hashirama to hear. “Look who’s come to visit, my love,” he purred.

Hazy red eyes slid over to where he stood. Tobirama met his gaze steadily, any dignity or shame long since fucked out of him. Only arousal remained, as well as mounting desperation as Madara kept up his constant, merciless pace.

“It looks like your brother needs his office. Maybe he’ll let us stay if you convince him.”

Tobirama didn’t look like he could remember his own name, let alone string together a sentence. He let out a long, plaintive whine. Madara laughed and nipped at his ear. “Hungry little bitch,” he said fondly. “You can do better than that.” He stopped his thrusts, ignoring the way Tobirama sobbed and wriggled back in protest. Tobirama twisted under his hands, eyes pleading, trying to catch Madara’s gaze with his own.

“No! Pleasepleaseplease--”

“Ah, now it speaks.” Madara patted his cheek. “Go on, Tobirama,” he said, gentle as can be. “Tell your brother what we've been up to. Tell him how good it is.”

“Good,” Tobirama slurred. “It’s good. Good, good--”

Madara looked at Hashirama apologetically. “He’s all worked up, poor thing. He’s usually more eloquent than this.”

_(“Again, my love. Louder this time. Your brother can’t hear you.”)_

Hashirama knew. He had been there the first time Madara taught Tobirama to beg. Just as he had been there when Tobirama learned to crawl, and suck, and spread, and thank Madara for his cock. Madara had invited him to witness their wedding night--had insisted on it. A joining of our two clans, he had said, smile broad, eyes cold. The culmination of your dream, old friend. And Hashirama could not say no.

He could picture the stretch of Tobirama’s hole around Madara’s cock, just as he could remember the tears in his little brother’s eyes the first time he took that full length into himself, mouth working silently, his whole body shaking uncontrollably until Madara ordered Hashirama to hold him down.

_(“Make it good for me, Senju. Your brother was the one who gave you to me, after all. He promised me you would be good. You wouldn’t want to disappoint him, would you?”)_

That was the last time he was allowed to touch Tobirama. When he tried to pat him on the shoulder the day after, Tobirama had disappeared for a week. Experimenting, Madara had said, and perhaps it was the truth. Tobirama returned to work in the end, as industrious and demanding as ever. He snapped and scolded and reigned over the tower with the iron fist of a bureaucratic deity, and everyone--Madara included--scrambled to appease his wrath.

But outside of necessary work conversation, he only had eyes for Madara. And when Madara pressed his palm across his hip, he shuddered before leaning into his hand.

Their marriage had been an unprecedented scandal when the news first came out. Not a single person in the village had expected it, the topic ripe for eager-eyed gossips for months. A love match, the romantics sighed. A forbidden love affair, secret and overshadowed by war and Heir Izuna’s death. Only now were they able to reconcile, years later. And now look at them.

Now look at them.

_(“Hold yourself open, pet, let your brother see that pretty little hole.”)_

_(“Such an eager whore. Go on. Why don’t you show your brother what you’ve learned this week?”)_

_(“Spread just bit wider, just like that. Oh, that’s nice. Don’t cry, sweetheart, you know you can take more. Your brother wants to see you take some more. Or we’ll have to start all over again.”)_

Just yesterday they had shared dinner together at the Hokage residence, as they did every month. Madara and Hashirama spent the meal trading jokes and insults with the ease of years of friendship, shoving and mussing each other’s hair. Tobirama and Mito discussed their latest research project, only intervening when their husbands devolved into drunken wrestling that threatened to upset the table.

It was more than anything Hashirama could have dreamed of as a child, and said so repeatedly, louder and less coherent each time. Madara scoffed and called him a weepy sap. Tobirama hummed, stealing glances at his husband through his lashes. Mito, ever the consummate hostess, oversaw the meal with impeccable grace. She bid her in-laws good night with her face serene, eyes unreadable.

Hashirama missed the days when he knew what she was thinking.

Now, he watched the way Tobirama’s bruised hips shook, weakly trying to push back onto his husband’s cock, and couldn’t summon a single thought for Mito if he tried.

Madara was still talking. “You know how Tobirama gets when he’s stuffed with cock. He can’t help himself. Can you, pet?” He did something out of Hashirama’s line of sight. Tobirama’s eyes went wide and he yelped, his dripping, neglected erection jerking between his legs. Madara laughed in open delight, releasing his hold on his wrists and hair. Tobirama stumbled gracelessly before getting his legs back under him. Once he did, he braced his hands against the desk and shoved back hard, working Madara’s cock with his ass with single-minded desperation.

He had clearly forgotten Hashirama was in the room. Hashirama almost stepped forward--not knowing what he would do--but stopped when Madara snarled, something vicious and cold flashing across his face. Instead he stood there, helpless and still as his little brother performed for his husband’s pleasure, Madara’s mocking gaze tracking every change in his expression.

By the time Tobirama came, Hashirama almost missed his wails over the blood pounding in his ears. 

Madara fell back into Hashirama’s chair with a sigh, pulling Tobirama to slump bonelessly in his lap. Tobirama tucked his flushed face into Madara’s neck, still making soft, pinched-off whines as he nuzzled at his chin. Madara soothed him with gentle strokes over his hip and back. He planted a tender kiss on his forehead, chaste as a parent, murmuring soft praises into his hair.

He cast a glance over at Hashirama, mock-surprised that he was still standing there. “It’s late, old friend. Shouldn’t you be getting home to your wife?”

He licked his dry lips and exhaled slowly, relaxing his hands. His palms burned as the skin regrew where his fingers had dug in deep.

“Yes, yes of course.” By the time he arrived home, the blood caught under his nails would be the only evidence of what he saw tonight. “I--just wanted to see if I forgot anything before I left.”

Black eyes stared at him, unblinking and amused. “And did you?”

“...No.”

He turned on his heel.

“Oh, and Hashirama.”

He looked over his shoulder, both too eager and too slow to respond. Madara was trailing a gloved finger through the puddle of come on his desk, a thoughtful, almost dreamy smile on his face. “Don't worry about the mess.”

He brought his hand to Tobirama's lips. He opened up obediently, suckling at Madara's fingertips with a hungry sound. Hashirama knew he would come to the memory of those lips later that night.

Madara’s smile widened. “Tobirama will clean it up.”


End file.
